


When You Move, I'm Moved

by prolixdreams



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Background Relationships, Blow Jobs, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Smut, Fluffy Ending, Frottage, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss, Porn with Feelings, Praying to Castiel, accidental prayer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 07:52:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17240381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prolixdreams/pseuds/prolixdreams
Summary: Dean's been praying by accident for a long time. On New Years Eve, Cas finally decides to answer.





	When You Move, I'm Moved

**Author's Note:**

> Eileen is alive, because I said so. 
> 
> Happy New Year.

It’s happening again.

Dean’s praying, and he doesn’t know it.

The first time it had happened, things were different: there was an apocalypse on, for one thing. Cas had been busy almost every minute of every day. That first time, he’d very nearly flown to Dean’s side instantly, thinking he was in distress, but the extra few seconds that he’d waited had provided him with the truth.

 

_You’re just so—_

Cas had felt a certain responsibility, even if he was interested, to not let it be known. He worried that to allow the situation to progress would be taking advantage, in a way, and made a policy of politely not mentioning it. The trouble with that has always been, however, that it’s continued to happen.

 

_So good, can practically feel y—_

During the civil war in Heaven, it happened fairly often. He’d be in meetings with lieutenants or locked in battle, and Dean’s voice would roll through him like a wave – on its own, that was fairly inconvenient, but at least it was possible to lower the volume then.

 

_Just wanna—_

When he was Emmanuel, it happened, and that had been especially awkward. Without his memories, he didn’t understand it very well. All the people crying out to angels, to heaven, but every time that _one man_ started to pray, no matter how seemingly meaningless or frivolous or (as it often was) lewd, he’d come through clear as a bell, drowning out everything else.  

The moment he saw Dean again, or rather the moment he heard Dean’s voice, two and two came together, unmistakable.

 

_Shit, that’s it—_

In Purgatory it happened a lot, and Dean was also so frequently in real pain, or praying intentionally to try to find him, that it was frequently difficult to try and parse out which of the three situations was happening each time Dean’s consciousness connected with his own.

_Fuck, Cas—_

When he was human – well, things changed. He was forced to admit that he _really_ _liked_ it, bowled over by how much he missed it, even going so far as to imagine it, to conjure the sound in his imagination when he was alone.

He’d had _so many_ memories to draw upon, and the things they made him feel...

The first time Dean prayed after Cas got his grace back, it was like breaking the surface after being held underwater. It was different after that, though. His feelings were undiminished, impossible to ignore the way he used to.

 

_Need you—_

And it’s been that way ever since.

At some point, he’d decided that it was correct for him to respond, that he’d been overly cautious before, that it was _right_ in some fundamental way, but the longer he went not addressing it, the more difficult it seemed to be, and then Dean died and woke up with black eyes and the prayers, unintentional or otherwise, stopped.

Cas had felt their absence acutely once more.

 

_Cas—_

 

 _So much_ has happened. They're a constant in his life again, these days.

Somehow, Cas has become inextricably entangled with a man for whom peril is a loyal hound, trailing him with every step, and it never quite seems the time.

But the world isn’t ending, not today, not at this moment. They aren’t in two different planes of existence, they aren’t even in two different _buildings,_ the only thing standing between them is a few walls. No one is dead or dying or kidnapped or possessed by anything. Even better: they’re alone.

He’s basically out of excuses.

And besides, Cas has had just about _enough_ of having to listen to this and do nothing about it.

He creates an image, a visual, sensory response, and sends to Dean a _divine vision_ that is very much _not_ in accordance with the intended purpose of angelic divine visions (though he’s almost certainly not the first to use one this way.)

The prayer stops cold, goes silent for a long, frozen moment. Then it returns, _louder_ than before, and considerably more _direct._

Cas doesn’t move, doesn’t reach out, doesn’t make contact with the door. Rather, he simply commands it to open, and it does, closing behind him just as obediently.

For a fraction of a second, Dean startles, but in the time it takes for Cas to close the distance, Dean’s already on his feet, with a series of flitting micro-expressions that make it clear: he’s already put the pieces together, solving the puzzle and rallying with the same clever speed that’s saved his life a thousand times over.

There’s incredible momentum as they come together and all at once they’re gathering one another into a kiss so blazing and desperate it’s almost a fight.

Dean pries into Cas’ mouth with his tongue and draws a low hum from Cas. In turn, Cas’ fingertips dig into Dean’s upper arm, probably leaving bruises in the same place he once left a handprint. Thinking about _that_ sends an unexpected wave of arousal shocking through Cas.

They breathe together, trading air. Cas rolls his shoulders to help Dean shuck both coat and jacket off his body, into a pool of fabric on the floor.

Cas’ tie and shirt buttons are the next target of Dean’s attack. Cas pulls away from Dean’s mouth long enough to kiss down along Dean’s jaw. It’s not enough – he winds one hand into Dean’s hair and _pulls_ (Dean’s sudden groan goes straight to Cas’ dick) for unfettered access to his neck, and the attention Cas pays there with lips and tongue slows Dean’s button progress considerably.

“Cas… that is...” Dean hisses through his teeth “ _very_ distrac— _ah_ —”

He chuckles against Dean’s skin and runs his hands over the goosebumps that result. Cas has a distinct advantage, in that Dean had been wearing nothing but boxers from the start, so while Dean’s busily trying to get Cas’ clothes off, Cas gets to _explore._

He gets to trace light patterns around Dean’s waist and back. He gets to grasp at Dean’s sides. He gets to follow the V of Dean’s hips down and enjoy the involuntary stutter and gasp that results.

It doesn’t last long. Distracted or not, Dean’s hands are agile (how many times has he escaped being tied up without anyone even noticing?) and he’s on a mission. Before he knows it, Cas is down to underwear and has to resort to other tactics.

In the midst of a bruising kiss, Cas slips one foot behind Dean’s and sweeps him into a controlled fall into the memory foam. Cas follows him down - he leans onto the bed with one knee and swings the other leg around, leaving him kneeling over Dean’s supine body.

Cas takes a moment to relish the image: The expanse of Dean’s flushed skin punctuated by freckles. The loose, surprised half-smile toying with the corners of Dean’s mouth. The rough rise and fall of Dean’s chest as he pants to catch his breath. The twitch of Dean’s cock inside his boxers.

Dean’s arms are up and stretching toward him, beckoning, and he can’t resist leaning down and letting Dean pull him in and press their mouths together. The hands move, start to slip down Cas’ back, and it’s Dean’s turn to explore, Cas supposes.

He holds his breath when Dean hits his shoulders because he knows what’s coming next if he keeps going in that direction.

Dean’s nails track down either side Cas’ spine through the canyon between his shoulder-blades.

One of Cas’ arms slips around Dean’s body, single-handedly lifting his whole torso up off the bed like he weighs nothing at all and pressing Dean’s body hungrily against his own. He growls his pleasure right in Dean’s ear.

“Dean---Dean---please—”

“Please… _what_?” Dean murmurs back, because he’s an asshole, and the smile in his voice makes Cas want to kiss him and punch him at the same time. Dean doesn’t wait for an answer, instead scraping his way down Cas’ upper back again, digging in harder this time. “This?”

There’s no way Dean understands, so Cas decides he’s going to _show_ him.

He sets Dean back down on the bed and pushes himself up using Dean’s chest for leverage, until he’s straight up again, kneeling perpendicular over Dean and looking down at him. Dean’s eyes are on Cas’, gazes locked like life depends on it.

Light flashes through Cas’ eyes as he slips his wings between planes of existence, partially onto the same one he and Dean currently occupy.

“Shit—” Dean whispers, and it’s about the most awe Cas has ever heard injected into that particular word.

He stretches his wings to their full length. They don’t fit in the room – the primary flight feathers seem to pass right through the dresser and the lamp stand and the the solid bunker walls. Message sent, _(…practically touching my true form, or as close as you can get…)_ he lets them flicker out of sight once more.

Cas bends forward again, but he only lingers at Dean’s lips for a moment before kissing his way down – across chin and throat and sternum. He tastes the cocktail of chemicals on Dean’s sweat that show just how much he wants this, wants Cas, and Cas answers by continuing downward past Dean’s bellybutton.

Dean is watching Cas move, hardly breathing.

Cas decides that if Dean can tease, so can he, so he slows way down. His tongue traces a warm path down to the waistband of Dean’s boxers. He stops, for a moment – just long enough to pull at the offending clothing. Dean cooperates, lifting off the bed enough to make it easier, and Cas rewards him by following the waistband downward with his mouth.

He isn’t sure if Dean even notices him shimmying out of his own boxers in the process, since he does it without ever taking his mouth off Dean’s body.

The room’s been so quiet – words whispered or murmured, gasps and breaths, but hardly any sound above these things. That is, until, Cas takes Dean into his mouth, all at once, until his lips and nose are buried in dark, musky curls. At that point, Dean cries out.

Cas can’t help but laugh a little around Dean’s cock as he slides his tongue in circles, and other shapes. He draws gasps and groans like water from a well, and from that well he drinks deeply.

“Cas—Cas you gotta—I still want— _fuck_ that feels good, but—”

“Yes?” Cas pulls away long enough to ask.

With a little irrepressible self-satisfaction, Cas watches Dean struggle visibly to catch his breath and form words. He scoots backward from under Cas, until he’s sat up against the headboard. Cas answers his little beckoning gesture, and as soon as he’s in arm’s reach, Dean’s pulling at his arms and body, dragging him into a kneeling position in Dean’s lap. Their cocks brush together in the process and they both hiss a breath at the same time.

Cas lets his eyes flutter shut, focusing on the sensation of Dean’s hands going up his sides and around to his back, anticipating the moment of contact where it had felt so good the first time.

But it doesn’t happen.

“Cas,” Dean says, a near-whisper. “Look at me. Open your eyes.”

He obeys: he opens his eyes and lets his gaze rest on Dean’s. As excited as they both are, and as dark as the room is, there’d hardly any green in them at all.

“Keep them open, okay?” Dean insists evenly, not breaking eye contact as his hands wander upward.

Dean uses deep pressure with his fingertips right between Cas’ shoulderblades, and the coil of arousal at Cas’ core twists up violently. He arches his back, in concert with the stretching and beating of his unseen wings, and he pants through his teeth with the effort to keep his eyes on Dean as he’s been told to do.

He’s so focused on that sensation, and on the connection in their eye contact, that when Dean’s other hand slips around both of their cocks, it’s a surprise that makes him jump.

“Stay with me,” Dean says, when his hand starts to move and Cas’ eyes start to flutter closed again.

For a thing as old as Cas, it is a rare thing to experience something _new_. There’s been a lot of _new,_ a lot of _first,_ in the short time since he met Dean, some sublime and some terrible.

This particular feeling might just top the list.

“Look at you, _fuck—”_ Dean swears, eyes roving across Cas’ body quickly before landing back on their shared gaze again. _…hottest thing I’ve ever seen…_ he thinks, too loudly and clearly for Cas to ignore.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, reflexively. He grasps at Dean’s hip for purchase, for stability. He doesn’t have a huge range of motion, the way he’s kneeling, but he can’t help using what space he has to thrust against Dean, into his hand.

Dean can take a hint, apparently, because he picks up the pace.

That spring inside coils up as tight as Cas can possibly imagine, and then tighter still.

With a gasp and a swear, it's Dean who comes, and the sudden slickness and the heat and the sight of it is enough to send Cas hurtling over the edge after him, scrabbling at Dean’s body as Dean pulls him into a tight embrace that Cas returns.

“I’ve got you,” Dean says as Cas twitches only semi-voluntarily against him.

They stay there for a long moment, just holding one another, an action no less long-awaited than anything else they’ve done so far.

When they finally pull apart, Dean huffs a little laugh at the texture between them. He starts to reach to the side of the bed for a dirty t-shirt. Cas spent enough time human to recognize the gesture, and takes no small pleasure in being able to lay one hand on Dean’s stomach, and then his own, and simply will them both clean.

That _really_ gets a laugh out of Dean.

“Would you have preferred the shirt?” Cas raises his eyebrows, a little defensive.

“No, it’s just… I was going to suggest we shower, preferably at the same time, but—”

“Ah. Well,” Cas climbs out of Dean’s lap and settles into sitting next to him. “Next time, then.”

“Mm,” Dean nods, still speaking softly. “Next time. Definitely like the sound of that. For now, though, we should probably get ready to head out – not that I mind, but that might have put us behind schedule a little. Don’t want them all getting _too_ many drinks ahead of us.”

“It’s nowhere near midnight, I don’t think they’ll care if we’re a little late,” Cas justifies, but does start to move toward his boxers and his shirt.

“You probably think it’s silly to start with, huh?” Dean guesses, pulling on one article of clothing after another. “Wavelength of celestial intent and all that – us humans picking some random moment to decide that a random amount of time we made up is ticking over?"

Cas shakes his head. “I like it. It’s nice, the thought of a fresh start.”

“Hey, uh… should we, I don’t know, talk about this?”

“Probably,” Cas admits.

“After we get back?” Dean suggests. “You can even zap me sober, if I drink too much at Eileen's.”

Cas nods his agreement.

“One question, though,” Dean only asks once they’re in the car and on the road, where Cas knows he feels safe, where he can look straight ahead. “I don’t know if you ever… I mean, there’s kind of a custom, at New Year’s parties. At midnight, if you’re, you know, with someone… you kiss them. I guess… I mean, I don’t know if you’d be cool with that, in front of people and all, so I thought I’d ask, before we got there.”

“Oh,” Cas says. He pictures it for a moment, before deciding: “Yes, I think I’d like that.”

They’re the last to arrive at Eileen’s place and Sam greets them at the door. Somehow – with his usual tunnel-vision, Cas supposes – he’d failed to notice the start of that relationship, though he's fairly sure it's not been overly long. It was Christmas when it became obvious, and Sam packed up and went to stay with her for a few days after that.

His smile and his ease make him look like he’s always been here. Even just after such a short time, Sam looks distinctly like someone’s taken a burden from him. As soon as Cas picks up on it, he glances over to see if Dean’s noticed too.

The reaction is beautiful – Dean’s face seemingly aglow with relief and joy, and it triggers a sort of brotherly feedback loop of good cheer.

“We were wondering if you two would make it at all,” Sam says, gathering them both into the somewhat crowded house. Some faces Cas knows, others he doesn't. 

Eileen signs something when Sam turns around that Cas doesn’t quite catch out of the corner of his eye. Sam’s eyebrows go up, and he signs back: "What do you mean, he looks relaxed?"

“Just saying,” Eileen returns, spoken and signed at the same time.

In the kitchen, people are talking resolutions, a thing that Cas needs briefly explained. He’s not sure what to say, what he should _want_ for the future. Even now, it’s still a hard idea for him to wrestle with at times – wanting and choosing for himself, focusing on anything other than putting out the next fire. When he considers it, he turns to look at Dean without even realizing he’s doing it.

Eventually, the night reaches its zenith. At the end of the countdown, on the stroke of midnight, surrounded by cheers of _Happy New Year,_ Dean puts down his beer. He cups Cas’ face with both hands, and Cas mirrors the gesture as they kiss.

For a fraction of a second, everything around them goes silent – they’ve definitely managed to surprise – and then Sam actually _claps_ and _hoots,_ and the entire rest of the party follows his lead. Someone, possibly Eileen, whistles through two fingers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean scolds them all after he pulls away, red-faced, “Glad you’re all entertained.”

“Heck,” Sam says, “If I’d known all I had to do was leave you two alone in the bunker for a couple of days I’d have done it a lot sooner.”

Dean resignedly accepts a jape or two, but Sam’s kind enough not to belabor the point overmuch, and Dean’s obviously a little relieved when the focus moves on to other things.

Cas allows himself to feel a little hope, an ember glowing softly inside him, for a happy new year.


End file.
